Pedigna
by HungerGames226
Summary: Peda - child. ignis - fire. Pedigna Mellark, the Child of Fire.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Once, in the land we live in, there was a language used called Latin. It's words came from various root words and letter formations to form something beautiful.

I've always admired words. Mother told me I was something of a natural writer. The way I formed phrases and sentences instantly impressed everybody. I've been told I'm very well spoken.

I get my ease of conversation from my father. People tell me he was something of a star in our nation, good with the cameras. My mother was a closed book. She rarely talked and when she did they were simple sentences. You could never tell what she was thinking.

Looking in the mirror I got from my grandmother, attached to a desk with old white drawers and brass handles, I study my face. Fresh. Pure. Possibly pretty. I have soft blue eyes and a thick mane of dark wavy hair. A few freckles over my pale nose.

People think I'm the spitting image of my mother, but with my father's eyes and skin tone. My younger brother looks like my father, with wavy blonde hair, but an olive complexion and gray eyes.

I brush my long hair with an ornate brush from my mother with bristles of horsehair. The old window, cracked open, lets in sunlight and fresh air from the surrounding woods.

Mother says where we live was once an illegal place. It was closed off by an electric fence that was never on. When her family starved, she hunted illegally in these woods.

Our house was once old and decrepit, abandoned. She came here during the winter to examine her kills with my uncle Gale. Not really my uncle, but a close friend of my mom.

I give my hair a soft flip and lie down on my bed. I stare out the window at my mother, tending to the garden beneath me. When I was little, I was so curious. Always asking questions about her life. When she told me little, I stopped trying. I just know she was seventeen, a few years older than me, when things changed.

Sometimes I ask her about this story before bed. She never understands why. Says it's too dark for a girl my age, but tells it anyways.

A girl about her age at the time, seventeen, was forced to compete in a contest where 24 go in and 1 comes out. She was dragged into it twice. Nobody liked the government, except for the people who lived in the wealthy Capitol. They feasted every night and were spoiled rotten while my mother's area starved.

This girl led a rebellion against the Capitol. She won. There was peace, and now we live in the woods my mother hunted in so many years ago.

She never tells me who the girl was.


	2. Chapter 2

"Those flowers are impeccably perfect against the dark green of the woods, don't you think, Mother?"

My words drift down to her in the soft breeze.

"Thank you," she replies.

"What kind are they?" I ask.

"Primroses," she says. She plants them every spring. I don't know why. She always tells me they're of significance to her. "Where's your father?" She asks me.

"I have not a clue. I haven't encountered him since breakfast."

"Ah, probably in town," she guesses.

"Probably looking at gifts for my lovely mother," I tell her, "he's somewhat predictable."

"I'll say," she responds, a little mockingly of him. She wipes the sweat of the afternoon heat off her brow. "Do you know where your brother is, Iggy?"

Iggy. My mother's name for me. Short for Pedigna, my first name. Pedigna Belmona Mellark.

My father named me. He combined Latin words to create a name. Pedigna means Child of Fire. Belmona means Reminder of War. It's a little malicious, I have to say. But I think it sounds meaningful, especially to them.

"I believe he's playing around the front. How pathetic of me! Everyone's up and out and I'm still in my nightgown."

Mother laughs, but doesn't respond. I suppose she's done talking. I close the window and draw the sheer white curtains.

I strip, and change into my favorite day outfit. It's a white lacey blouse with shiny black buttons and a frilly gray skirt.

I walk through our small home, out the door. I tell my Mother I'm going to town, and I'm on my way.

I feel that our town is diverse in geography. First, I'm trudging through thick, green woods. A soft meadow speckled with springtime flowers. A flat field.

It's the small gold light that stops me.

Against the thriving grass on the outskirts of town, it's almost shocking. Glinting in the sunlight. I pick it up.

It's a pin. A small pin, about the size of my palm. It's a bird, it's back curved, it's wings fluttered out softly. In it's mouth is an arrow. Mother's lived here her whole life. I'm sure she'll know what it is.

I race back to our house. I'm not much of a runner, but I'm motivated to get there faster than usual.

I approach Mother in the kitchen. She's drinking a glass of milk. "Mother!" I shout.

"Iggy, what is it? Is everything okay?"

"Do you have any idea what this small thing is?" I hold out the tiny pin in my palm. I look into my mother's eyes and see the world.

Anger. Frustration. Remembrance. Sorrow. Grief. Pain.

The pain is most apparent. "Where…did you…find that?" She asks this slowly. She stutters.

"It was half-buried in a field. Do you have any idea what it is?"

Now standing over me, her knees wobble. She grasps my shoulder for support as she tries to remain standing.

"Here, sit down. It's okay," I say a bit tentatively. What's wrong?

"Pedigna, we're going to wait till Father gets home. We'll get Miriv inside. There are things you both need to know." She sounds panicked, or confused. She never calls me by my real name.

Miriv. Wonder of Life.

We wait until Father gets home. Mother, a little strengthened at seeing her love, gets up and brings my 8 year-old brother inside.

"It's time to tell them," Mother whispers to him, "she found the pin."

"What? They're not old enough!"

"But it's time. Trust me," she says. "Pedigna…"

Again with Pedigna.

"Pedigna," she continues, "do you remember that seventeen year-old girl in the story I tell you?"

"Yes."

"That girl was me."


	3. Chapter 3

Pedigna Belmona. Child of Fire. Reminder of War. And suddenly I know the significance.

"You?"

My parents look at each other knowingly. "There was a whole team," my Father says, "you remember that thing called the Hunger Games?"

I nod.

"We gathered up all the people that won, plus a few people who hated the government. There were once twelve districts, you know that, right?" My Father asks me.

I nod again. This was once District 12, which mined coal. My parents have lived here their whole life.

"Your mother- she rallied up all the Districts, reminded them of all the children their government had killed. We all rebelled, and we won."

Maybe the words sink in. Maybe they don't. All I'm aware of is that far away place you look when you're numb from shock. I'm looking everywhere and nowhere. Near and far.

"Anything else I need to be aware of?" I ask, somewhat annoyed.

"I think that's all the general information," my mother finally says.

How can this be? Neither of my parents are exceptional at anything. My mother rallied up an entire nation? Led a rebellion?…_Won?_ Looking at her now, her dark roots growing grey, a few wrinkles in her skin, those eyes wiped clean of life- it's almost incomprehensible.

"Where does the pin come in?" I ask finally.

"It came from a dear friend of mine, before I entered the Games for the first time. Madge Undersee, the Mayor of District 12's daughter. Bless her heart…"

My mother can speak no more. My father completes her thoughts. "The bird on the pin, it's called a mockingjay. During the first Rebellion, before your mother and I were born, the Capitol engineered a type of bird called a jabberjay. They recorded private messages in the Districts and brought them back to the Capitol. The Districts found this out, and sent them with false information."

Clever.

"The Capitol discovered this and sent the birds out in the wild to go extinct. Only they didn't. They mated with female mockingbirds, creating a whole new species. The pin itself is sort of a smack in the face to the old Capitol. They weren't supposed to live. When your mother began the Second Rebellion, she became the mockingjay. She wasn't supposed to live twice. The Capitol wanted her dead."

I take this in and nod casually. "Why did they want her dead?" Miriv asks before I can.

"When your mother and I were both picked for our first Hunger Games, there was only supposed to be one winner. But it came down to the two of us. Do you both know what Nightlock is?" He asks us both. We nod.

"In the arena, there was a Nightlock bush. Instead of killing one of us, we threatened to eat Nightlock both, so there would be no winner. They stopped us before swallowing them, and they reluctantly let us both win."

He tells us that the next Hunger Games, a Quarter Quell, they made my mother and father go back again into the arena. That they blew out the force field with their allies, thus ending the Games early. My mother, Katniss, was kept safe in a hospital in a thirteenth District, which they didn't know existed. She along with other victors, while Peeta, my father, and a victor named Johanna, were captured and tortured.

District 13 launched a rebellion, and rallied the other 12 districts, and they defeated the Capitol. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark- the star-crossed lovers from District 12- were safe. Their family could thrive on forever in this new way of life. And here we are. Living in the thick foliage that once served as a safe haven for the girl all those years ago.

I don't know what to think by this point. Fourteen years. Fourteen years they kept this from me! Not only them, but everyone! The teachers at school have never mentioned the girl's name in a lesson. No grownups ever stop me to say how much I resemble the girl who saved Panem.

"Why are we just learning this?" I ask in frustration. My face is red and hot. I can feel it. I'm getting teary.

"Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, is thought to be dead to the rest of the country."

Well, aren't we getting so many new surprises from my dear mother today?

"Dead?" I ask, trying to calm my nerves.

"We thought it would be easier. I don't like fame anyways," Mother assures me.

"Well, just to the rest of Panem. District 12 knows. It's our little secret," Father says with a hint of amusement before the silence gets too long.

I look into their eyes. My mother, whose past I can finally read. Her gray eyes gleam with life again, as if she's just been crowned victor of the Hunger Games.

Or if she's just saved the nation from itself.

My father's eyes, calm and collected, soft and soothing, are light blue like mine. They hold a thousand memories and keep a steady pace. Like an ocean, the waves rolling sturdily.

I turn my back and exit the house. My hand over my mouth. Crying. Towards the Meadow.

And for once, I am at loss of words.


	4. Chapter 4

I knew my parents were in the Hunger Games twice. I knew they were famous.

I didn't know they led a country to rebellion.

Girl. Fire. Seventeen. War. Panem. Country. Districts. Capitol. My mother, Katniss. These words circle around my head continuously as I stare into the water of the creek.

My face. My mother's face. The face of rebellion?

I splash the water in response. I can't believe this. Not only is this news to me, but the fact that they kept it for _so long_. Over a decade I had no idea.

I wander aimlessly around the woods for the next few hours. The footsteps of my mother. The vibrant, thriving woods give me my drive.

But drive for what?

I have no reason to be driven. There's nothing awful in my life.

There might have been, if my mother hadn't changed that years ago.

It's growing dark. After I stormed out, there's no way I can go back to the house. Instead, I find a comfortable place in a tree and say goodnight.

-;-

The next morning, I wake up disoriented. Where was I? Oh. I remember.

I think I can go back to the house now. They're probably worrying about me.

I don't know why, but when I run, I run like my life depends on it. Like there's something big and great I need but the woods are blocking it.

The wind divides into two across my face. The trees that whiz past me are a blur. All I can see is green. Green everywhere. Green in the trees, green on the ground. Shiny green vines crawling up long tree trunks. The fresh, raw air.

It feels…good. To run like my life depends on it.

My parents should know.

I reach the house. I slow myself down and catch my breath. A warm glow, even though it's still morning. The door creaks open and mother and father gasp and take me into their arms.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I was upset. I slept outside."

"As long as you're okay, it's perfectly fine," My father says.

Over my mother's shoulder, I can see that there's a lady sitting at the table, with a cup of tea. She has thin, straight blonde hair that graces her shoulders, with spectacular strands of silver. Her pale blue eyes have the reflection of her past. I can tell she is not used to this place.

Besides the look in her eye, only one thing about her sets her apart from my town. Her fuchsia shawl around her arms. A magnificent color adorned with vibrant feathers. Green, pink, red, orange, yellow. Everything.

"Who's our visitor?" I say with a fake smile.

My father glances over at her and back to me. My mother stares into space. "Honey," he says, "this is Euphemia. Euphemia Trinket.

-;-

"Nice to meet you, Pedigna," the stranger holds out a short and lean arm. Her nails are painted a mix of orange and blue. I return the favor. "You can call me Effie."

"Nice to meet you…_Effie_," I say. I turn to mother. "So, uh, how exactly do you all know each other?"

Father hesitates. "We, uh, worked together in the Hunger Games. She was at the District 12 Reapings."

Oh. I guess that's important.

"So, Effie, why are you here?" My father asks suddenly. I thought he of all people would know why she was sitting here at our table.

Effie looks at both of them. "Capitol business," she replies promptly.

'You're from the Capitol?" I ask in awe. I've never met anyone from there.

She looks at me with a sharp smile. Her lips are thin and pointy. "Yes, dear, I've lived in the Capitol for my whole life."

There's a slight hint of an accent there. I can't tell what it is. She ends her sentences like she's asking a question. Pronounces vowels oddly. Must be a Capitol thing.

"How did you find us? We're dead to the rest of the world," my mother says softly.

"President Paylor knows you're alive. She also knows we're acquaintances, so she sent _me _to discuss this with you."

So my parents are still involved? Another surprise.

Father looks at me. "Pedigna, would you take your brother to his room and go to yours? There are adult things we need to discuss."

"Oh, of course," I reply. I scoop up the little one, who's so focused on the lady's shawl. "Up you go, Miriv," I tell him.

I put him in his room and shut the door. I go to mine. I sit at my mirror and pick up my brush. Without thinking, my nimble fingers braid my hair down the side. A few strands frame my diamond-shaped face.

I pace around the old rug in my room. I trace my fingers along the intricate design. I look out the window. All the while Effie and my parents are talking about…about what?

After years, they suddenly need their help again?

For what? As far as I know, Panem is perfectly fine.

But I can't help but think….is it really?


	5. Chapter 5

I lean my head out the window and let the summer woodland air fill my nose. Sunlight streams through the thick leaves and tree trunks and shadows dance in the side of the house.

The window next to me opens, and Miriv pops his head out. His gray eyes burst with curiosity. His blonde curls gleam in the sunlight. He's eight years old, but still hasn't lost his baby fat.

"Hello," I say awkwardly. He stares. He's not one to talk.

I turn away from him and back to the woods in front of me. So much of it goes unexplored. I breathe deeply. My parents are missing out.

Miriv closes his window. "Strange," I say under my breath to myself. I close my window just as father walks in.

"Hi," I say to him. "Is everything okay?"

"There's something we need to talk to you about," he answers slowly.

Confusion is in my eyes, and apparently he can see that. "Not necessarily a bad thing," he tells me reassuringly, "but it requires traveling across the country."

I'm still confused. "What is this?"

His blue eyes are hopeful. Hopeful that I'll understand whatever he's about to say. "It requires-"

He stops to clear his throat.

"It requires to take a visit to the place we know as the Capitol."

-;-

Effie stays the night, sleeping in our living room. When we wake, she's on the couch, her leg crossed over the other, looking prim.

"Good morning," she says to me as I walk in. My eyes pan the room. Father's making breakfast. Mother's helping. Miriv is still asleep.

My eyes move back to her. She's waiting patiently but expectantly for a response. "Good morning."

Seeming pleased and relieved, Effie gives a curt nod and a thin smile. I sit at our kitchen table. "Morning, sunshine," my parents tell me.

"Good morning," I say back.

My father calls the rest of us to the table, and we are served an array of strawberries, blueberries, oranges, and apples in a fancy formation. I can tell my father is trying to impress Effie.

My eyes are fixated on our rope swing, out the old window. Made of aging rope and a piece of sturdy wood. Made for me and my brother, years ago.

My days of being naïve and innocent.

Now, not so much.

-;-

A few short hours later, we're at the District 12 train station. All five of us. I started to pack, but my mother told me everything I needed would be at the Capitol.

Effie and my mother are seated on a green wooden bench, chipping away. Since we're important guests, we're to ride a Capitol train.

The speeding train pulls in. I must admit, it's a little exciting. It's just our family on this fancy train, going to a famous place.

The train amazes me. Brilliant mahogany detailing at every corner. Plush, blue, velvet furniture. Platters of food everywhere. White roses in glass vases. Smells of flowers. And it's all available to us.

"It shall be approximately 21 hours until we're at the Capitol," says the Capitol attendant. He has the same hint of an accent as Effie. Her skin…it looks…green? A hint of a mint green shade. Though tried to cover with her long brunette tresses, her neck and forehead are tattooed with what looks like vines.

I look around at my family to see their reactions. Miriv looks out the window as we pull out of the station. Effie is smiling, relishing the moment. My father is steadying my mother, who seems to be shaken.

"Just as I left it," she whispers, shaking. My father takes her into another compartment.

I take a seat in a comfortable velvet chair that's positioned in front of the window. I look at the zooming landscape. I've never realized how big District 12 is. We are lined with green mountains, covered in summer trees. We are taught it was once called the Appalachian mountains. Aside from that, District 12 is hilly and rocky.

It's in about an hour when Effie promptly announces it's dinnertime. By this time we're almost through District 11. Lots of trees and beautiful orchards. Green, flower-dotted rolling hills. Small cottages line the countryside.

We are served thin noodles in a rich red sauce. I have mine with grated cheese. A drink called hot chocolate is also offered, and this is when my mother joins. It's creamy and thick and sweet.

Soup. Salad.

For dessert, platters of fruits, covered in chocolate.

After dinner, we all bid each other a good night, and find our rooms on the train. Mine is beautiful. It has a large bay window with sheer white curtains at the far end. An enormous ivory bed with a canopy bed stands next to an ornate free-standing mirror and a white dresser. Lots of overstuffed chairs surrounding a fireplace.

I'd like to sleep in my tempting bed, but I decide against it. I take a fluffy blanket from a chest of drawers and a soft pillow from home and make bed on the windowsill. I watch us cross the border from 11 to 9. The full moon casts a beautiful glow on the endless wheat fields I see, that stretch on forever.

8. Nothing much here. Polluted air and factories, as my parents always described it.

We reach the edge of 2 and I'm amazed. Small villages cluster around quarries. Very rocky, being the Masonry district.

I fall asleep hearing the clinks of hammers of masons working late into the night.

-;-

I awake to a bright sun casting an angelic glow onto the scene before me. It must be District 1. Large, spacious towns, bustling with beautiful citizens, going in and out of shops like perfumers, jewelers, and art stores. District 1 creates luxury items for all of Panem.

Many people I see in the distance have bright blonde hair and are very attractive. I take my eyes off the scene and close the curtains. I strip off my rumpled clothes and start for my suitcase, but stop. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, isn't it?

I head over to my handcrafted armoires- I have 2- and examine it. It has three tall cabinets, with three drawers on the bottom. When I open the cabinets, I find beautiful dresses, skirts, blouses, jackets, pajamas and a fleece bathrobe greeting me.

I lay out a lavender dress on my bed, made of cotton, with short sleeves. It has a lacey collar and falls right below my knees.

Three white wicker baskets line the top shelf. They all contain shoes. I try them all on, but pick out white sandals with a daisy on both of the toes.

The three drawers at the bottom contain socks, undergarments and scarves. I put on a white satin under dress and classic white tights. A soft white pantyhose. I put on my dress.

The second armoire, to my disbelief, is dedicated to jewelry. A drawer for rings. A drawer for bracelets. A drawer for hair clips. One for hair bands, one for anklets, one for perfumes. The bottom drawer for clutches. The sides open up to a hundred necklaces, and the top of the armoire lifts into a mirror and plays a tune.

I spend at least twenty minutes selecting the proper jewelry. I end up with an ornate silver ring on my left ring finger, two purple bracelets made from diamonds. I sit in front of the mirror and put my hair into a low bun at the nape of my neck, the sides braided. I adorn my hair with small diamonds. A silver clutch containing a sweet-smelling perfume. Just for laughs, a bit of blush and mascara.

I examine my outfit in the mirror. I must say, I look stunning. Beautiful. Regal.

With a few spritzes of the delicate perfume, I leave my room and go to the dining car. I'm the last one there. I see Effie and I are the only ones who changed outfits. "Good morning, everyone," I say quietly. They all look up and their mouths drop open.

"Iggy, you look _beautiful_," my mother says as she walks over. Even Effie smiles approvingly.

My father smiles. "She's ready to take on the Capitol," he tells us. "Once you're there, this will seem normal."

Effie frowns for a moment, and then opens her dainty mouth. "The styles have, um, changed, since you were there, Peeta," she says.

My father looks at her and then shrugs.

"Is that it?" My brother asks. He's standing at a window, peeking out a curtain. I join him. It's sparkling. Skyscrapers, bridges, everything beautiful and grand. Golden roofs glinting in the sunlight. We're here at last.

And I'm ready.


	6. Chapter 6

The streets of the Capitol have not been underestimated. Paved with gold, with perfectly groomed shrubs and trees and gardens. Everything modern, sharp and angular. Beyond anything I could have dreamed of.

Surprisingly, there's no one in the streets. Just the occasional person walking about, not particularly looking for anything or anyone. Peculiar.

Effie seems at home here. She struts through the streets, only turning around to say "this way", or, "keep up!"

Miriv is taken aback by the beauty of it here. It's so luxurious, and we haven't even gone inside.

The marble streets of the city click with every step we take. We're all silent, observing. It's not until we've been walking half an hour until it dawns on me to ask: "Effie, where exactly are we going?"

Effie turns her head back, but continues walking. "We're going to the old training center apartments, where we each get our own floor. We can get changed after an exhausting day."

Changed? Exhausting? I've not been in these clothes an hour. Maybe it's a Capitol thing.

-;-

We're all settled into our apartment floors about an hour later. No attendants, no helpers, just us to a floor each. Effie tells us to be ready to go to dinner at the President's in two hours.

I wander around my floor. Bright greens and reds and blues, everything flamboyant and oddly shaped. The walls made of a cold grey stone, the black floors so shined I can see my reflection.

In the main dining room, the floor is blue tile and abstract lanterns hang from the ceiling. Electronics everywhere.

I find that my room is a series of steps, me standing on the highest level. My bed, which could fit three people easily, is on the lowest level. Strange sculptures adorn the walls. The far wall is a giant window, overlooking the Capitol. I'm in the penthouse, so I get the best view.

I go to start a bath, but instead there is water sprinkling from above. A shower. I set it to a refreshing cool. In the mirror, which takes up a whole wall, I run my fingers over my face. Making sure I'm still me, under all the opulent clothes and makeup and jewelry. Yup. It's still there.

One by one, I take out my hair diamonds, and place them in a small glass so I don't lose them. I take off my many layers of clothes and hop in the shower.

The shower, I find, has about three thousand buttons to ensure I get comfort from cleansing. Scents, oils, temperatures, lights, it's all there. Soaps alone have a quantity of a thousand scents.

I press the button that says "primrose", because it's the only one I recognize. To my surprise, sponges actually clean my body for me. I don't have to lift a finger.

Stepping out of the shower, warm blasts of air from the whole bathroom greet me from every side. In ten seconds, I'm clean and dry. I think I'll like it here.

-;-

Fourteen closets. A whole expanse of a room dedicated to them. After happily browsing through each one, I find an outfit formal enough for a President's dinner.

A creamy orange blouse made of satin. Delicate buttons down the middle. The top, near my neck, is made from lace of the same color.

A white skirt of an unknown material, that juts out near my hips and then comes back in to greet my knees.

White tights. Silky smooth undergarments.

I braid my hair down the side, and curl it up into a side bun. Mascara, blush and a nude lipstick. A primrose placed on the side of my head, to match my scent.

Three silver bracelets, two rings, one golden anklet. Two earrings, feathers, and my pin.


	7. Chapter 7

The warm evening summer air is sweet as our group walks to the President's mansion. Mother and father are wearing their best, and so is Miriv. Effie looks bizarre, with neon green makeup and corkscrew curls blasting from her head as if she were electrocuted. Very different from the Effie I met at my home.

The President's mansion is a vast building, as I expected. It is the end of a long avenue, with eerie empty bleachers lining both sides. Flags of each of the districts stand tall and proud.

"The President is in the dining hall. This way please," says the servant. He has tried desperately to cover injuries and bruises, but to no avail. He looks neglected.

The President is sitting alone at a long table, made for thirty people. Her feet are on the table and she's eating a turkey leg. Her eyes light up at the sight of us. "Ah, welcome!" She says as she gets up to greet us.

She looks very different from the president I was expecting. I expected to see a frail old lady with lots of jewels and pastel colored hats and skirts and blazers. President Paylor, as it turns out, is tall and muscular, with silver hair with streaks of dull grey, and wild brown eyes, and her face is round. I can't tell what she's wearing, because it's covered by a brilliant red cape lined with animal fur.

"Sit! Please, sit," she tells us as we awkwardly take random places.

My mother asks how things have been in the government, and she replies with "good, good, good," every time. She seems more fascinated with the turkey leg she's been gnawing on than her guests.

Endless platters of meet, cheese, fruit, vegetables, soups, salads, seafood, and chocolate. I stop after a few bites of each to let it settle in my stomach.

After our dessert, jellies, puddings, cakes, tarts, and chocolate fondue, I ask to go to the bathroom. A different servant, a woman with curly red hair and sunk-in cheeks, leads me there. I have to stop myself from looking at the giant scratch above her eye.

The bathroom is more themed like the train. Fancy, instead of bizarre. I didn't actually need to use the bathroom, I just needed time alone.

I look in the mirror. Same face. It's when I reach out to touch it when I hear the sound of a dying animal through the wall.

-;-

I snap back, startled. I look around, to make sure I'm alone. I hear the moaning again. Horrendous. Neglected, abused, left to rot. Seeking help that will probably not come.

I cautiously move myself to the wall. Covered by a brilliant golden mirror. I let my finger slide down the cool, ornate material I see so little at home.

Without meaning to, I pop it open. It slides open like a door, easily. I hold my breath to see what's behind it.

A wall. Plain and white as the others.

I let out a heavy sigh. That person needs help and I need to help them. And that's when I notice the outline. Thin and almost invisible, around the perimeter.

This one pushes open. Not as easily as the door. It creaks.

Grey hair, down to their knees, the tips aqua and greasy. Cheeks molded around the skull. Sunken in eyes, too big for the sockets. Eccentric clothing, ripped and tattered.

The eyes look up to me as the dry, cracked lips form one word.

"Help."


End file.
